Something For The Weekend?
by Majick
Summary: Harry and Ron argue, Hermione schemes, Ginny dreams and the twins are everywhere except on screen. Oh yes, it's yet another Harry Potter fluff fic. (HPGW and HGRW, complete!)
1. Chapter One: Harry's Tale

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…Something For The Weekend?

**__**

Harry's Tale

"You've got to be bloody joking!"

I sighed. I hadn't expected Ron to be such a stubborn sod about this. How was I to know he had plans for the flat on Saturday as well?

It had seemed like a good idea at the time. As Ginny began her seventh year at Hogwarts, Ron and I moved into a flat near Diagon Alley. I joined Puddlemere United as their reserve Seeker and Ron walked straight into the Cannons as their first team Keeper. In the last year, I've moved up to the first team as well, and we even got to play against one another in a friendly match a few months back. Hermione's been working in the Ministry of Magic as a sort of freelance consultant, because, being Hermione, she wants to do everything. Last week she was helping Remus with the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, but two weeks before that she was working with Lockhart - long story, but you can bet your last Knut that Ron wasn't happy about it - in the Education department.

Of course, she's still working on S.P.E.W. in her spare time, too.

Oh, and Ginny's got all her NEWTs and she's working for Gringotts now. She's training as a curse breaker, and she wants to do some travelling. I can't really complain, can I? She was top of her year in Charms, and all the work she did with us means that she set a record for Defence Against the Dark Arts, beating my NEWT score by one point. She can handle herself, and Ron still has the bruises for suggesting that she can't.

Of course, with all of us going in different directions, it's rare that we get to spend time together. Ron Apparates off to Chudley before eight each morning, I think, but as Oliver Wood is Puddlemere's captain this season, I have to be out of the flat by seven at the latest. Hermione's at the Ministry at all hours and Circe alone knows where she'll be on any given day.

And Ginny. . .

It's three years now since Ginny and I started dating and since then we've hardly been apart. Voldemort attacked privet Drive three days after I went back there after sixth year and I was moved to the Burrow for my own protection. I certainly didn't complain. Then, after Voldemort was defeated halfway through my Defence exam - I got 98% because he broke my left arm. Having Bill Weasley as Defence teacher was a test of our humour, if nothing else - I spent the summer at the Burrow. Hogwarts was so badly damaged during the battle that the students had to stay in Hogsmeade for much of the following year or go home each night. I got to see a lot of Ginny, which was great.

This summer, though, she's been training with other new recruits, and I've been training under Oliver Wood. I don't know whose job is harder, but Wood is definitely insane. Puddlemere lost out to the Cannons on the last day of the season when our Seeker missed the Snitch in the final game. Ron nearly fell off his broom, apparently, when he realised that they'd won, and I think today is the first time he's stopped grinning since then.

Ah, yes, today. . .

"You've got to be bloody joking!"

"Ron, come on. It's been weeks since I had more than a couple of hours alone with Ginny. You get to see Hermione all the time!"

"For about ten minutes at a time! No, forget it. We're playing the Wasps at home on Saturday and Remus has ordered Hermione to take the day off. I'll actually get the chance to spend some time with my girlfriend and it's my turn to have the flat!"

Ah, yeah. Turns. One of Hermione's less brilliant ideas. When Ron and I got this place, it became a bit embarrassing for us to walk in on each other when Hermione or Ginny was around, so Hermione suggested we take turns having the flat to ourselves on alternate Saturdays. Up until now, it's worked fine, but this Saturday is important. It's the first chance me and Ginny will have to celebrate three years together - the actually anniversary is on Thursday, but the Pudd's are in Ballycastle that evening for a match - and so I want to do something special.

Actually, _we_ want to do something special. And I'm not going to tell Ron what it is, because he'll kill me.

I know he doesn't mind me _dating_ Ginny. Much. But, well, I don't think he'd approve of us, um, well. . .

Oh, Merlin. 

I want to sleep with Ginny, alright? It's been three years and we're ready. Ginny and Hermione were researching Contraceptive Charms about three _months_ after we started dating, just in case. And now we're of age, and we're ready, and I think I'm going to propose on her next birthday and I'm really getting sick of waiting.

And if I say any of that to Ron then every single member of the Weasley family will kill me. Even Ginny, because she doesn't want Ron knowing.

"Ron, don't be an arse! You know that tomorrow is three years that Ginny and I have been going out. We want to celebrate!"

"Yeah? Well, next Wednesday is three years that me and Hermione have been going out, only I've got a night match against the Pride of Portree that night, so I can't be here. We're using the flat on Saturday, Harry, so you'll have to make other arrangements."

"Ron, I'm broke, okay? I spent all my money on my present for Ginny. I can't afford to take her out or anything. I have to use the flat!"

"No!" Ron barked. "Look, I don't get paid until next Friday, so I'm broke as well. I had to borrow off George to get Hermione anything, so we've got to use the flat as well."

"You're a bloody impossible sod, Weasley!" I yelled.

Ron just grinned, infuriatingly. "Hermione was saying the other day that it's really nice to see you expressing your emotions these days. Much better than when you used to suppress and just seethe quietly. I have to say I agree, but I think the neighbours might be a bit surprised to hear language like that from the Boy Who Lived, mate." 

I just glared at him. Ron's a fine one to talk about using bad language. "This is your sister I'm talking about, Ron. Don't you want to see her treated properly?"

A last ditch attempt, and not one that's ever worked before, but maybe today. . .

"You always say that Hermione is like a sister to you," Ron said, grinning like he always does when he slips his knight - always his ruddy knight! - into place and checkmates me. "Surely you'd want to see her treated properly?"

"Why can't you take her to the Burrow?" I said. "Your dad's the Minister for Magic now. He could arrange to take your mum off to some show for the night or something."

Ron gave me a look that suggested I'd gone mad.

"Harry," he said quietly. "If you think that the one night that I actually get Hermione alone, I'm going to take her somewhere that's covered in pictures of me as a baby, you're off your trolley, mate. That sort of thing does not set the sort of mood I'm aiming for, okay?"

And that's when it dawned on me.

Ron had the exact same plans for his night with Hermione that I had for my night with Ginny.

Damn.

*

I arrived at my lunch date with Hermione in an absolutely foul mood. It wasn't her fault that Ron was being an arse, of course. I'd bet next month's wages that she didn't even know what Ron had planned for Saturday night. I can't imagine Hermione conspiring on having 'something for the weekend', as Fred always calls it when he doesn't want Angelina knowing that we're talking about sex.

Hermione, of course, was late. She always is. Everyone bought her clocks and watches for her birthday last week - I swear it wasn't arranged beforehand, although the way George and Fred were grinning, I think that they'd 'suggested' appropriate gifts to a few people - but it doesn't make a difference. Ever since she's started working with the Ministry, she's always late for any appointment. I actually got her an hourglass, to remind her of the Time Turner and how stressed she got over it, but she doesn't seem to have taken the hint.

Anyway, she was fifteen minutes late - not bad for Hermione - and scribbling something on a roll of parchment as she arrived. I waited until that mad look passed from her eyes before I said hello. She grinned, showing off the perfect white teeth that had seen her win _Witch Weekly's_ 'Most Charming Smile' award for the last six months. I know for a fact that Ron's kept all the clippings, but I know he'd hex me into next week if I ever mentioned it.

I'm sure Hermione knows, though.

We exchanged small talk and got caught up on each other's lives, as it had been about three weeks since I last saw her. Apparently she's working with Hagrid at the moment to get Blast Ended Skrewts recognised as official Beasts under the 1811 Magical Creature Registration Act, whatever that is. I think she knows that she's onto a loser, but she'd do anything for Hagrid, same as any of us would.

"So, what are you and Ron up to this weekend?" I asked carelessly, as though it didn't matter very much.

Hermione's eyes lit up, as they always do whenever Ron's name is mentioned. I don't think I'll ever forget the day I walked in on them kissing in sixth year: For a moment, I thought Ron had been Petrified or something. As I got closer, though, I realised that Hermione was on the other side of him and he was just standing very still. Not exactly how I wanted to find out that my best mates had started dating, but it really took the heat off Ginny and me. Not only were they now spending as much time as we were looking for someplace to snog, but I came up with the 'but Hermione is like a sister to me' whenever Ron used the 'but Ginny's my sister' line for whatever reason.

Anyway, I'm getting away from the story. Sorry about that.

"We're having a meal at the flat," she said. "Ron's becoming a very good cook, you know."

"Yeah, he's not bad," I said. "I think his mum taught him some things when he moved out. He made us pasta last night. Pretty good, although Mrs Weasley's is better, of course."

"Well, Ron just needs the practise," she said, treating cooking like everything else. "If he works hard at it, he'll get better and better."

"He said he's thinking of trying something more complicated next," I said, looking down at my plate. He hadn't said anything of the sort, but maybe Hermione might get nervous of the idea.

"Oh, that would be nice. It's good to see Ron stretching himself. I'm always so proud when he tries something new. Did you know that we went out to a French restaurant the other week with Bill and Fleur, and he tried the Bouillabaise? He really seemed to like it, too."

I did know, and actually he didn't like it. He came back to the flat and cooked the greasiest fry-up ever to "Get the taste out of my mouth. Bloody hell that stuff is vile. Oyster stew? Ugh."

I almost considered mentioning it to Hermione, but I decided not to. It's okay for me to try and nudge Hermione away from the idea of spending Saturday in the flat, but I didn't want to start a full-blown war between the two of them. Besides, Ginny would kill me if I broke the two of them up, even accidentally.

Instead, I smiled and nodded, trying to think of a way to suggest that Hermione should spring for a nice meal and a posh hotel. Ginny's not earning much as a trainee curse-breaker and the rent on the flat takes a lot of Ron and mine's money, but Hermione's earning _loads_ at the Ministry. She could easily afford a proper night out. Problem is, Hermione's the sort of girl who'd appreciate a home-cooked meal and a cosy night in. It's just a shame that Ron never ended up with Padma Patil, in that respect, anyway. Would have made things much easier.

Lunch was still fun, though. Hermione told me about Remus' meeting with Professor McGonagall a few days ago and how Remus had spent the entire meeting suggesting ways to arrange Professor Snape's transfer to caretaker now that Filch has retired to breed cats with Mrs Figg - yeah, weird, I know.

Anyway, we finished lunch - Hermione insisted on paying, something I wished she'd thought of for Saturday night, but what was I going to do? - and I walked her back to the Ministry. I still shiver whenever I go near the place, I suppose because it reminds me of Sirius. I don't know how Hermione can work there, but she does. Still, whenever I think about the place, I find myself ending up thinking of Ginny, and that always brings pleasant memories to mind. I suppose Hermione does the same.

But I still didn't have the faintest idea how I was going to turn Saturday night into more pleasant memories for Ginny and me.

And then I had an idea. Fred and George.

__

To be continued…

(Author's note: "...Something for the weekend?" is the traditional barber's question to his customer at the end of a haircut. It's an oblique way of asking whether the customer wants any condoms, and as a phrase has come to mean sex in general. I suppose barbers started selling condoms because it's an all-male environment and you won't run into your mum's best friend or the little old lady from next door while buying them there. That's always a worry for a man looking for, well, something for the weekend.)


	2. Chapter Two: Hermione's Tale

**__**

Hermione's Tale

Poor Harry. You can't help but feel for him, especially when he has every bit as much right to celebrate his and Ginny's anniversary on Saturday as Ron and I do. Still, while his attempts to be subtle have improved over the years, he was trying to trick me, Hermione, Queen of subtle witches, into giving up the chance to spend the night with Ron.

I walked back to the Ministry after our lunch together, my mind churning as I thought of the coming weekend. I'd be spending some meaningful time with Ron. Very meaningful, if everything went according to plan. And my sources lead me to believe that it will.

I think I've been spending too much time with the twins, or at least their girlfriends, Angelina and Alicia. Apparently the twins always refer to sex as 'something for the weekend' when they're having 'manly' discussions with Ron and Harry that their girlfriends shouldn't interrupt. Wherever that peculiar phrase came from, it has rather lodged in my mind and I've been anticipating this particular weekend for some months now.

I can't imagine sometimes why it is that Harry is so very dense. He knows that I helped his girlfriend research Contraceptive Charms - when she was fifteen! I think Ginny has inherited her mother's attitude to sex - and yet it never seems to have occurred to him that I might have been interested as well.

I'm sure Harry would be shocked if he ever realised that I was probably the first of the four of us to begin thinking about, well, something for the weekend. I can pinpoint the moment exactly: Seeing Viktor Krum in his swimming trunks.

Oh, I never really thought about sleeping with Viktor, of course. I was fourteen at the time, and I didn't really know what sex was all about. Hogwarts never had a formal family planning class either, but it was generally accepted that sometime during a girl's time there, she would make her way along to either Madam Pomfrey or - bizarrely - Madam Pince. She could then get some useful tips and a few potions of the 'just add water' type that made certain times of the month rather more bearable.

But I digress. It was Viktor who first made me think about what boys - oh, very well, what _Ron_ - had under his robes. While I certainly never acted on those thoughts until I was a good deal older, of late it has become more and more obvious that Ron and myself have been building towards a weekend of our own.

This weekend.

And Harry, I'm sorry, you're like a brother to me, but I wouldn't give this up for anyone. I'm nineteen years old and I'm ready to take the next step with my boyfriend.

And I really don't want you in the next room when I do it.

Er, when I take the next step, that is. Although as I suppose that does involve Ron and I 'doing it', then I don't want you around when I 'do it', either.

Oh, Merlin, so much for being sensible about this. . .

Fine. I want to make love to Ron, I want us to do it for the first time on Saturday evening and I don't want Harry Potter to get in the way. There, I said it.

But the problem is, I don't want Ron to know that I know. It's all been something of a game, and Ron's not very good about discussing this sort of thing. We've never actually put into words this feeling we have, this readiness. I'm blushing just at the thought of it. It will all be so much easier when we actually, well, do it.

There really must be a better way of describing it then that.

But it makes sense. It was so much easier to talk about our feelings once we were both certain we had them. That first kiss unlocked a lot of discussions that we probably should have had long before then, but it was perfect, just perfect, and I wouldn't have had it any other way.

And now we've reached another point where I can't say what I want, and Ron won't say what he wants. But he knows, he has to know, and I _know_ that he knows from some of the things that Angelina has said about his discussions with Fred.

Ron would be mortified to know that I know everything that he talks about with Fred and George. I understand that George tells Alicia everything that Harry asks about as well, and Alicia in turn tells Ginny. I don't know if the twins are aware of this arrangement, but I wouldn't be surprised.

So long as Harry and Ron don't find out, everything will be fine.

What we really need, of course, is some way of sending Harry and Ginny off for the weekend. Of course, _Dobby_ has more money than Harry nowadays - even if Dobby is still only on one Galleon a week - and all of Ginny's money goes on, well, stuff. She doesn't earn much, and she spends it all immediately. 

I'm not saying that I'm much better, of course, but I do try and save a little each month. Of course, I spend rather a lot on S.P.E.W., but it's worth every Knut. Regardless of what Harry believes, though, I don't have very much left over at the end of the month, so I can't exactly pay for them to spend the evening in Hogsmeade.

From what I can work out, though, I think Ginny was rather hoping for something special on Saturday. I do feel a little bad for disrupting Harry's plans, but he still has a lot to learn about romance and he really can't keep leaving things to the last minute anymore. He's been lucky so far, never more so than on Ginny's last birthday, but his luck had to run out eventually. Either Harry will think of someway around this in the next three days or he'll learn a valuable lesson.

Either way, I'll be blocking the Floo at Ron and Harry's flat on Saturday night. I don't want anyone calling at an unwelcome moment. And if Ron is actually thinking what I think - and hope - he's thinking, then any point after the door shuts could be an unwelcome moment on Wednesday.

Oh, would you look at that? I've been back in the office for nearly an hour, and I've not done a scrap of work. This is all Ron's fault, obviously. How am I supposed to concentrate when all I can think of is him?

Oh, I _am_ sorry. I do rather get carried away when I think about Ron. I must concentrate more. I was talking about the weekend, wasn't I?

I remember now. I was going to talk about Angelina and Alicia, and how much help they've been to Ginny and I. They've been with the twins for years now, and while they don't go into detail about what they've done, I don't think that they keep many secrets from one another. Ginny and myself have benefited from their experience many times and it's wonderful to have such good friends. I don't think Ron always appreciates his elder brothers - even Percy, sometimes - offering him advice on his love life, and I know that Harry still feels as though Molly and Arthur get to hear everything that he and Ginny get up to. Besides, he can't really ask for too much advice from Ginny's brothers, can he?

Angelina plays Quidditch for the Kenmare Kestrels these days, so I'm never entirely sure if she's around or not. Ron very kindly gave me a complete Quidditch season planner for my birthday last week, though, and it even shows when a team is supposed to be training. Happily, Angelina wasn't with the team that evening, so I popped my head into the fireplace and called the flat that she and Alicia are sharing with Katie Bell. Happily, Angelina and Alicia were both there.

"Hermione," Angelina said, grinning widely. Angelina is a lot happier these days. Becoming a professional Quidditch player has vindicated all the hard work she put into the game at Hogwarts. Alicia waved in greeting. She's working for the _Daily Prophet_ nowadays as a reporter. She's teamed up with Colin Creevey and they've managed several front-page stories as writer and photographer. I was very lucky to catch both the girls at home.

"What can we do for you?" Angelina asked. Alicia already had a quill in her hand, ready to take notes.

"Is there any advice that you can give me for Saturday night?" I said. We'd had this discussion at least twice before, but the girls are always very understanding about it.

"Relax, be ready to laugh -"

"- Not at him, though -"

"- and don't forget that it's all about how much you love each other. That's the important thing."

I feel better instantly. They're right, of course they're right. On that horrible day after my fourth year when Mum sat me down for The Talk, the one thing I feel happy remembering is her stressing that love should come before sex. I feel really terrible saying it, but when I look at someone like Pansy Parkinson who got pregnant in her final year only for Goyle to turn out to be a Death Eater. . . Well, I don't think that there was much love in their relationship.

But with Ron, I know I love him. I know he loves me, too. Not just because he says he does, but also all the countless things he does that show it. He's spent so much time learning about house-elves and Muggles and everything he thinks he needs to be able to be with me and even though I tell him over and over that he doesn't need to do these things, he still does.

And that's just one reason I love him.

And that's why on Saturday I'll be wearing something very definitely Muggle-made and designed purely to show him how much I love him and how much I want to do for him.

Back to the matter at hand, though.

"It's actually another problem I wanted advice on," I said, drawing myself back to the conversation.

"Another one?" Angelina asked in mock horror. Alicia laughed, and dipped her quill in an inkpot.

"It's Harry and Ginny. It's _their_ anniversary _tomorrow_," I said. "Harry's trying to convince Ron to give up the flat on Saturday."

"And you'd rather he didn't?" Alicia asked, looking up from the parchment with a wicked grin on her face.

I didn't reply, just gave her a look. She laughed, and shook her head.

"I get the idea," she said. "I remember what I was like in your position. I nearly hexed Fred one day when he suggested we all go out on the evening that George and I. . . "

She tailed off, and coloured slightly as Angelina sniggered.

"I feel bad for them," I said. "Ginny deserves something special and Harry, well. . ."

It was my turn to tail off, but the girls nodded understandingly. Harry, for all his wonderful points, is a bit lacking in romance. He really doesn't have a clue how to make a girl feel special. We've tried dropping some hints, but it's going to take a really big shock to make him get the message, I think. Only Ginny can really give him that jolt, and she's been very patient so far.

I admit that I have an ulterior motive in that I want them far, far away from the flat on Saturday, but I can free two house-elves with one speech, can't I?

We tossed a few ideas around, but nothing really fit the event. Although Ginny enjoys Quidditch, I don't think free tickets to Angelina's match on Saturday would be quite the thing. A meal at a fancy restaurant was really out of the question as neither Ginny nor Harry has two Sickles to rub together, as I've already mentioned. For the same reason, we couldn't exactly arrange for them to spend the night at a hotel somewhere.

Eventually, Alicia threw her quill down in frustration.

"Why is this anniversary so important, anyway?" she said, scraping a hand back through her long, glossy hair. "They come and go, you know? It's Harry who should be trying to work out what to do, not us!"

"I imagine he is," Angelina said. "But we owe Ginny."

"And I think Saturday night was special for a reason," I said quietly. I didn't know for certain, but Ron and Harry tend to think along the same lines, even though I'm certain they'd not discussed this at all.

Alicia's eyes widened as she caught my meaning, and Angelina covered her mouth with her hand as she got it too.

"You think that Harry and Ginny. . ."

"Ron and he really _do_ do everything together, don't they?"

I laughed. I hadn't thought of that, but it _is_ true.

"Someone will need to tell Harry that he's got to do something _special_," Alicia said, firmly.

"Harry would be mortified if I said anything," I said. "He's very private about things like this. He'd probably give up any plans of going further with Ginny for the next year."

"Just imagine how happy that'd make her brothers," Angelina said, wryly. "I know that Charlie and Percy in particular aren't looking forward to the day that Ginny gives them proof that she's not a little girl anymore."

"Well, if Percy and Charlie won't help, Ron's dead set against giving up the flat and Bill's away in Egypt at the moment, there's only one thing for it," Alicia said, smiling wickedly.

"I know," I said. "It will certainly make the evening memorable. Now, who's going to be the one to tell Fred and George?

__

To be continued…


	3. Chapter Three: Ron's Tale

**__**

Ron's Tale

I was born and raised a certain way, the Weasley way, and that means putting others first. You don't even think about it after a while, and the only people you treat differently are your own family.

In this case, Harry and Ginny.

Fond as I am of Harry, I think that I may have had an ulterior motive in getting Harry into our family all those years ago. It's nice to be able to treat him like a brother, and that includes being able to say no to him occasionally. Saying no to the Boy Who Lived is a privilege I cherish. I mean, he killed Voldemort for Circe's sake! He never seems to understand that the wizarding world would bend over backwards for him. He'd probably even get a free meal at the Leaky Cauldron, if he thought to ask.

So, the world owes Harry a lot. That doesn't mean I have to give up the flat when Hermione and I are finally going to move on a stage.

And I think we are. It seems like the right time, you know? I mean, we've been together three years, and I love her more than I would have thought possible.

I don't think the twins ever dated for more than about three weeks without getting 'something for the weekend' as they always call it. Bloody patronising, too. It's called making love, but the way they treat it like a joke, it's a wonder that Angelina and Alicia are still with them after all this time.

But they are, so I suppose the twins are doing something right. It means that I listen, too, when they give me those little pep talks that they're so fond of. I swear they only do it to see Harry squirm, and that's fine by me. If I thought for a second that Harry and Ginny were sleeping together, well, I reckon I'd puke. It's good to know that Harry still gets nervous at the idea of Ginny and him, well. . .

Like I said, the idea makes me feel unwell. Anyway, I'm getting way off topic here, aren't I? I should be talking about Hermione and me, and what I planned for this weekend.

It was a simple idea. Cook a nice meal, spruce the flat up, lots of candles. It was simple, romantic and set the mood pretty nicely.

Of course, I was as nervous as a vampire in a tanning salon, so when Hermione arrived, I knocked over one of the candles and nearly set the flat alight. By the time I managed to remember the Fire Dousing Charm, Hermione had Apparated into the flat because she heard me swearing.

I turned around, covered in soot and with my robes singed. This wasn't exactly what I had in mind to start the evening.

But Hermione, well. . .

Wow.

I know it took me a really long time to get around to admitting that I had feelings for her, and that there were even times that I was pretty horrible to her. There have been times when I've hated her, times we've driven each other crazy and times that I though that if I never saw her again it'd be way too soon.

But, seriously, wow.

Seeing her standing there, in a Muggle dress that looked like she'd transfigured her skin into clothing it was so tight, well, I knew that I'd made the right choice by staying with her.

She was beautiful, but, more than that, she was _gorgeous_.

"Er, hi," I said.

"Hi," she said, grinning. "The look suits you," she added.

I looked down, and smiled ruefully.

"This was supposed to be romantic and stuff," I said, holding up the dripping candle. "Now it just smells of burnt robes. Sorry."

"Ron, it's okay," she said, walking over and kissing me. 

I pretty much forgot about burnt robes and anniversaries and everything else for a long time after that.

And then the smell of something other than burnt robes made me remember that there was something other that candles and certain parts of me that were burning.

"The dinner!" I yelled, jumping up and running into the kitchen.

Or, at least, I tried to. Turns out some bloody idiot thought that it'd be a really good idea to leave burning candles all over the place.

Oh, yeah, and someone, probably that same idiot, thought that it'd be a really, really great idea to turn out all the other lights so that I'd run head first into the low beam by the kitchen door.

Once Hermione had stopped laughing, she put out all the little fires and _Finite_'d the burning dinner. Then she came over to me and started giggling again as I puled myself upright.

"Yeah, ha ha, bloody hilarious," I grumbled.

She gave me one of her Ron-you're-being-silly-just-admit-I'm-right looks. By now, I've learned to accept that Hermione's really smart and knows loads more than I ever will. Normally I just agree with her when she thinks that something's funny, even if I don't see the humour in it. 

Not this time.

"It's not funny, Hermione," I said, standing up.

"It is, Ron," she said, waving her wand at me and healing the cut on my head.

"No, it's not," I said, waving her off and stalking away. Of course, the flat isn't big so I didn't go very far, but it's the principle of the thing.

"Ron, you're being silly," Hermione began, before I span around.

"I'm being silly?" I asked. "Hermione, I've been slaving since I got back from the match, trying to get this perfect for you, and now it's ruined!"

"Ron, it's not ruined," she said, putting a hand on my shoulder. I shrugged it off.

"I don't know what you'd call ruined, then," I said. "Burns all over the floor from these candles, my best robes have been burnt full of holes and the dinner's burnt as well! I'd say that that's pretty close to ruined, wouldn't you?"

"Ron, those things don't matter," she tried again.

"Of course they matter!" I yelled. "If they didn't matter, I wouldn't do them! I'd be like Harry, and never do anything for you."

"Please don't shout," she said, a little sadly, and I felt like a complete git immediately. I've been working really hard to keep my temper under control ever since we had a huge falling out after an argument last year.

It all started when the Great Britain and Ireland Quidditch League had their Christmas ball. It's really just an excuse for the players' wives and girlfriends to dress up in really fancy robes and show off how rich their men are. I can't stand most of the women who hang around the other players and I had no intention of going, but Hermione seemed to really want to go.

"You're joking, right?" I said.

"Of course not," she said. "I like to dress up and look beautiful from time to time."

"You always look beautiful," I said. And she does. Turns out that that wasn't the right answer, though.

"So why won't you take me to this ball and let me show it?"

"Eh?"

"Ron, I want to go to the ball. I'd like to dress up in a pretty set of robes and see what the other girlfriends of Quidditch players are like."

"Bloody boring!" I said. "They haven't got two brain cells to rub together! I can't stand most of them, and the rest are only bearable 'cos they keep their mouths shut and are just pretty to look at-"

Yeah, I know. Oops.

"They're pretty, are they?" Hermione said, and suddenly her voice was so cold that you could have chilled potions with it.

"What? Oh, I dunno. Some of them, I guess."

"I see."

"Not as pretty as you, obviously," I said, trying to make up some lost ground.

"Of course," she said, her voice dropping to sub-zero levels. "So you'll be taking me to the Ball, then?"

"No!" I said, far too quickly.

"Fine," she said.

"What?"

"I said fine," she replied.

"Really?" I asked. It's not at all like Hermione to give up so easily, especially when I've offended her, which I do all the time. I usually don't mean to, though, and she tends to forgive me in the end.

"Yes, it's not a problem. I'll just have to go with someone else."

"What? You can't do that!"

"Why not?" Hermione said. "I'm sure I can find someone who will be happy to accompany me."

"Well Harry won't!" I said hotly. "He agrees with me about how rubbish it's going to be, so he's arranged to take Ginny away for the weekend."

"I wasn't thinking of asking Harry," Hermione said. "I do happen to know other Quidditch players."

"No you don't," I said, bewildered. She'd only been to about two matches in her life. Who else did she know? "There's only Angelina, and you can't go with another woman."

"What about Viktor?"

"What about him?"

"He transferred to the Holyhead Harpies at the start of the season," she said triumphantly. "I'll ask him if he wants to go with me. I'm sure he'd be happy to be my date."

"You can't go out on a date with someone else while you're going out with me!" I said.

"Well then, Ronald Weasley, you can officially consider us broken up," she said. "If you don't feel that I can compare to these stupid, beautiful women you like so much, then I don't want to be with you."

And she stormed out of the flat.

Mad, right?

Anyway, I managed to score a ticket to the Ball at the last moment and did myself up in dress robes and all that sort of thing. I showed up at the Ball, and sure enough Hermione was with Viktor Krum. She didn't look very happy, though, and I knew why.

Anyone who's heard Krum talk in an interview knows that his accent has just become thicker and thicker since he was eighteen. I could hear him mangling the English language as I got closer, but I only had eyes for her.

These days, Krum and me are on an almost equal footing. We both play Quidditch, we both have to deal with all that entails and, it seems, we're both about the same build.

But I'll be buggered if I'm not a damn sight better looking than he is when I put my dress robes on.

I didn't even stop to acknowledge him as I took Hermione's other arm and lead her away from him.

"I'm sorry, you're beautiful and I love you more than anything else on this planet," I said, before she had the chance to say anything. "If you wanted me to, I'd kiss Snape, I'd shave my head, I'd do product tests for Fred and George, if I thought it'd make you happy. I would do anything to make you happy."

"Anything?" she asked. "Even if I asked you to give up playing for the Cannons?"

I thought for a few seconds, and then nodded.

"I would do it," I said. "If you truly wanted me to, then I would do it and never regret it."

"I would," she said. "I'd regret making you give up something you love so much. I think we can compromise, though. Take me away from all these boring people."

"Even Krum?"

"Even Krum. I was just telling him that I was leaving, anyway?"

"You mean I was right?" I asked

"Fine, yes, you were right. It was a dreadful party and I shouldn't have made such a fuss about coming."

"I was right?"

"Don't push your luck," she laughed.

But it's okay, really. I love her, and I _would_ do anything for her. She's mad as anything, but I like that, and I can't stay mad at her when I have so many wonderful memories of her.

I looked at her, looking more beautiful then she ever had before, and sighed.

"I'm sorry I lost my temper. It's not about you, it's my own fault for messing things up here."

"They're not messed up," she replied, as I took her hands in mine.

"There's no dinner," I said quietly.

"I'm not hungry," she replied, squeezing my hands gently and pressing herself against me.

"I've destroyed the flat. Harry's going to have a fit. Our _landlord_ is going to have a fit."

"So?" she breathed, pulling my head down so that my lips met hers.

"My robes are a mess," I managed, a few minutes later.

"Then take them off," she said, biting her lip. 

We stood frozen for a long moment.

"Really?"

"Really."

"All this. . ." I gestured. "It was supposed to be really romantic."

"It is," she replied. "You're here."

I picked her up and carried her off to my bedroom. Along the way, I muttered a few spells that freshened the air and also made sure that my room was soundproof.

The twins taught me them. They used them to keep things secret from our parents. Not a problem I have any more but, nevertheless, thank you, Fred and George.

__

To be continued.


	4. Chapter Four: Ginny’s Tale

**__**

Ginny's Tale

I had lunch with Hermione on Friday. I've finally finished the first stage of my curse breaker training - two months that felt like twenty - and I celebrated with lunch with my best friend.

She talked about Ron, of course, about all the wonderful things that he does for her. I'm delighted that my brother has turned out so well. Certainly when we were kids and he tried to convince me to be the Quaffle in a game of Quidditch, I didn't imagine him turning into the sensitive, kind, loving man that Hermione describes.

I think that Hermione and I get to see two very different sides of Ron.

It's quite sweet, the way Hermione talks about Ron. I must admit, though, that after a while it grates slightly. She's so very much in love with my brother, and he comes up with all these grand gestures that Hermione loves to talk about. In anyone else, it might be them trying to prove how wonderful their boyfriend is. In Hermione, I know it's just that she loves Ron every bit as much as he loves her.

But I'd like to set one thing straight. Harry Potter is a wonderful boyfriend, the best in the world. Ron, my brother, Harry's best friend and also my best friend's boyfriend, seems to get all the good press nowadays, probably because he loves to surprise Hermione with big displays of how much he cares for her.

Harry's never been like that, but he's always been the introvert to Ron's extrovert. What he feels for me is just for the two of us. He doesn't get the credit that Ron does because he's so quiet and because I love having the memories all to myself to treasure.

So, I hope you don't mind if I set things a little straighter.

Ron's very proud of the Quidditch Ball last year, winning Hermione back after she broke up with him.

But it was Harry who got him that ticket.

And it was Harry who gave him pointers in what to say, and what to do. You may notice that part missing from Ron's retelling of the story. That's because Harry swore him to secrecy. Ron learned his lesson from that mess, happily.

It was also Harry who talked Ron through the morning after he kissed Hermione for the first time. My brother, the supposed Casanova, is not so forthcoming about the way in which he refused to go down to the dormitory because he was so scared of facing Hermione.

Harry also reunited the two of them when we all got plastered on Firewhiskey the night of Voldemort's defeat and the two of them had a huge row.

I ask you, why then, of all times? And what did they do to deserve a friend who'd go from defeating a Dark Lord to banging their heads together?

What did I do to deserve a boyfriend that wonderful?

Even after three years, I still don't know. Whenever I ask, Harry says that I'm the only one who always knew the real him, but I didn't, not at first. I do now, but in my first year at Hogwarts. . .

But that doesn't matter now. I don't care what people think about Harry. I know the truth.

I know that Harry flew up to my window through the worst thunderstorm in nearly a decade last Valentine's Day to give me a single pink rose.

I know that a year after our first kiss, Harry gave me his Firebolt to fly against Hufflepuff because my broom got snapped. And he flew the match on a school broom. And he still caught the Snitch.

And I know that six months later, when Dumbledore was killed and Harry had to defend the rest of us from Voldemort's first attack on the school, I know that he was nearly killed protecting a first year who was in the wrong place at the wrong time.

I know that he came to my room that night - I don't know how he got past the wards around the girls' rooms, and he never did it again - and just held me. I don't know how he knew I was scared, but he did and I've never felt so safe as that night.

And I know that when Voldemort attacked the school the second time and he carried Harry off to the Department of Mysteries again, I know the big secret of how Harry defeated Voldemort. I know something that Ron and Hermione don't know, that Professor McGonagall and Professor Lupin don't know.

I know what the terrible weapon held in the Department of Mysteries is.

All year long, the wizarding world had been buzzing about it. When Dumbledore was killed, there was a call for the Minister - my father - to use the weapon.

In the end, Harry did.

Harry used love to defeat Voldemort. It was that simple. His mother's love had saved him as a child and now, he said, his love for me had saved him.

He didn't go into details. I don't know if anyone will ever know the whole truth.

But my boyfriend loved me enough to save the world, and I happen to think that that's pretty special.

And now, with our three-year anniversary behind us, I think I may have discovered how to show him how special he is to me.

As far back as I can remember, Fred and George have had lots of girlfriends. They were the most popular boys in school, and all the girls loved them. During the summer, they could be heard talking until all hours about what they'd like to do to various girls. I didn't always understand all of it, of course. I remember being eleven and asking at the dinner table what 'something for the weekend' meant.

Dead silence.

Several hours later, after Mum's hysterics had worn off and Dad had stopped yelling at the twins for corrupting their sister and brother, the twins came into my room and promised to tell me anything I wanted to know when I got a bit older. Provided I kept my mouth shut.

In the summer before my third year, the twins told me everything they thought I would need to know.

"Just the basics, Ginny," Fred had said. "You can find out the rest for yourself."

"Not until you're married, though," George had added.

"You're not married," I said.

"We're different."

"What about the girls you go out with?" I asked. "Why are they different to me?"

"We're not related to them," George said.

"Apart from Samantha Fairwell," Fred said, happily.

"Shut up," George growled.

"Seriously, Mum loves meeting distant relatives. Bring her around one day."

"Shut up," George repeated. "Just 'cos her great aunt Florence was our great Grandad Frederick's second cousin's niece, doesn't mean there's anything wrong with it."

"Why'd you dump her then?" Fred asked, with un-natural glee in his voice.

George stamped out of the room, muttering something about spikes and pillows and twin brothers. Fred followed, choking on his own laughter.

I was left with the impression that sex was rather complicated.

It's not. At least, I think that it isn't, if you're with the right person, the person you love.

Which I am, of course.

Which brings us back to Harry. Sorry about wandering away from the main story, but we're back now.

Harry picked me up from Gringotts on Saturday afternoon, but wouldn't tell me where we were going. All he would say was that he'd had to change his plans, and he hoped that this would be okay.

As I suspect his original plan had involved spending the night at his flat, I certainly wasn't complaining. The place just reminds me too much of Ron, and I don't want to be thinking of him when I'm in the middle of something very intimate.

First we went to the Leaky Cauldron. We exchanged gifts which, as usual, meant I gave Harry something small and he gave me something big. I always feel slightly embarrassed about this, right up until he opens his present and just beams.

This year, I got him a watch that had been enchanted by Dad and Professor Flitwick. It tracked all the Weasleys and the important people in Harry's life like our clock does at home. But this one shows the time until Harry says someone's name - Remus Lupin, for example - and then it would show what he or she was doing.

The way that Harry smiled when he realised what the watch was made me want to cry. He has so much lost time to make up, so much love he needs to be given that even a simple thing like this means so much to him.

Harry bought me a trenchcoat that had been lined with dragon hide. It was resistant to tons of spells, and Harry felt that it would help me with my job. I couldn't help but smile, and I knew that he had to have been talking to Bill to find out what sort of equipment a curse-breaker needs to do well in their job. I'd been looking at a coat like this one - though nowhere near as nice - only a few days earlier.

And then the time came for us to go off and spend some time alone.

We hadn't said anything about it. We hadn't put anything into words. But I think we both knew. It was time. It had been time for well over a year. But there was something about the way I felt that told me that this was the moment I had been waiting for.

Harry pulled a Portkey from his pocket - it was a Weasley Wizard Wheezes carrier bag, but he said that it was a Portkey - and told me to take hold.

I did, and immediately felt the tug behind my stomach that always makes me want to throw up. But that's Harry. He'd be so obsessed with keeping our destination a surprise that he wouldn't even tell me ten seconds beforehand so that we could Apparate there.

I always shut my eyes when I take a Portkey. Dad says I should ride with my eyes open, but I tried it once and the swirling effect just makes me feel even more ill. So when my feet touched the ground, and I opened my eyes, I was nearly knocked over backwards by the beauty of what I saw.

It was the Head Girl's bedroom in Gryffindor Tower.

It had been my bedroom for the last month or so of my seventh year, once the Tower was restored.

More than anything, I had wanted Harry to come here to see me.

And now, a few months late but none the worse for it, we were here.

"How. . ."

"Dumbledore," he said. "He taught me how to make a Portkey that would get through the Hogwarts wards, in case I ever needed to. I needed to tonight."

I looked around the room, dazzled by all that had been done to it.

"The room's not being used this year. The Head Boy is a Gryffindor, but the Head Girl is out of Ravenclaw."

I barely heard him, I was still so amazed by the room. For a start, it was larger. Somehow, Harry had enlarged the room to nearly twice its original size. Tiny candles burnt all around the room. The comfortable bed that had been mine for such a short time was even larger, easily big enough for two people.

The windows appeared un-natural, and a closer look showed that they had been enchanted, magnifying the moon and the soft glow of its light so that the room seemed to shine silver.

And that was just the beginning. There was so much that was amazing about the room - the plush rugs, the gorgeous drapes, I could go on for hours - and none of it had been there when I was there. Harry had done it all for me.

"It's incredible," I said, and I meant it.

"Fred and George helped," Harry said quickly. He's never liked taking the glory, especially if he could shift it onto anyone else.

"Really?"

"They owed me a favour."

"And the favour was letting you seduce their little sister?"

The words had slipped out before I realised they were coming, and for a second Harry looked as though I'd slapped him. But then he smiled.

"I told them that I wanted to show you how much I love you."

"You saved the world. . ."

"I wanted to show you when it mattered," he interrupted. "Now. Here. It's easy to love someone when you have to. But today is just an ordinary day, and that's when it matters. I wanted you to know that it doesn't matter if we fight, or if we disagree, or even if something happens between us." 

He looked me directly in the eye, and I felt a shiver of anticipation run down my spine. At some point, Harry learned how to use those piercing green eyes of his. Now he just has to look at me a particular way and I'm left breathless. Like now.

He smiled at me.

"I love you. Forever."

He leaned into me, and our foreheads touched as we stared into one another's eyes. I've always been fascinated by his eyes, how they say so much, even when Harry himself is saying nothing.

Tonight I looked into Harry's eyes, and all I could see was me. . .

Guess what? The twins were right. Not about waiting until I was married, of course. But the basics they taught me served me pretty well. And afterwards, as we lay there, Harry pointed out little things about the room that I hadn't noticed.

And he admitted as well that the twins had given him a few pointers over the last few years.

Well, thank you, Fred and George.

****

The End


End file.
